


Rising (and Falling)

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Flipping Coins [8]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Implied Non-Con, coarse language, ingame derogatory terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's dangerous to walk down blind alleys in Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising (and Falling)

**Author's Note:**

> Something different. This is the same Aedan and Fenris, though not from a friendly perspective. Very slight non-con warnings for those with triggers.

Deke glanced back at his brother. Kirkwall, finally. It had been a long damn hike from Cumberland. The two men stood for a minute, gawking, while carters and tradespeople jostled around them. This city was huge compared to quiet Cumberland, layers upon layer of people crammed together in warrens and squares. 

“I tell you, Micah, this is it. A city like this has to be teeming with nobles and their purses. They’ll be easy pickin’s for the likes of us.” Sandy-haired, with a scar on his chin, he was handsome underneath his travel grime. He grinned at a girl carrying her basket to town. She blushed and scurried off. 

“Dunno, Deke.” Micah glanced around worriedly, rubbing a hand through his greasy brown hair. He was smaller and sharp-featured, but quick. “All of the Templars. Them statues. This don’t look like a place you want to get caught in.” He shook his head. “Dernal said…”

“Dernal said his mum was calling, so he’s still back in Cumberland, scraping coin and diddling his thumb.” Deke looked again over the city, full of dark corners and winding streets. Perfect for thieves. “This is going to be our town, Micah, just wait.”

\---000---

They’d found Darktown pretty easily. It was nice of the locals to name their haunts so that a pickpocket knew exactly where to settle in. Deke had been taken back by how passive the denizens of the fetid tunnels were. No one had put up a fight when the two brothers had taken over an entire squalid set of rooms. 

One toothless old man had laughed when he heard them talking in line at the water spigot. “You two’ll be hawking a different tune in a month or so. Seen it before. You come in looking like you own the place and Kirkwall ‘ll knock you over. Chokedamp will seep in your lungs and you’ll be just as worn out and useless as the rest of ‘em.” 

Deke had snarled and the man had slunk off. They’d gone back to find that their squat had been rifled. Their cooking kit was gone, and Micah’s extra pair of boots. 

They’d found the idiot wearing the boots. Knocking him over hadn’t taken five minutes. 

That act of revenge had drawn out others who didn’t look like all the spirit had been beaten out of them. Corin had been at Ostagar, he said and he’d shown them the bow he’d scavenged from the ‘spawn. Dagen didn’t say where he was from, but he’d brought rotgut and that had been enough to earn a seat at their firebox.

Deke ventured up to Hightown. He’d snatched three purses before a guard had even spotted him, but diving down into the underground passage had gained his escape. They ate well that week and Micah started to relax. 

A quick job here. A couple of cuts there. That was all it took to make a name for yourself in the undercity. Micah came back from turning over some gear at Bonny Lem’s one afternoon to find Deke cornered by a Coterie bint and her backup. 

“All I’m saying is that I got no intention of paying protection money.” Deke smiled a lazy sort of grin. It had won him a girl or two back home, but Coterie enforcers tended to be immune. 

She rolled her eyes, bored with her job and not paying attention to the surroundings. “And I’m telling you that not paying is only an option if you work for us.”

Micah slipped in and stuck his knife in her kidney. There were advantages to being small and dark and easily ignored. Deke dropped the second with a crack of a pommel across his temple, when the man turned to see from where the attack had come. “Come on, let’s get this mess cleaned up.” They’d dumped the bodies silently. The Coterie had kept their distance after that. They had bigger problems than a small time pickpocket crew. Especially one that fought back. 

They’d found an abandoned warehouse in Lowtown a couple of weeks later, big enough for the whole gang to move in, separate rooms and all. Close to the Alienage where they could shake down elves and no one minded. They had the coin to drink at the Hanged Man now. To buy a whore or two. A couple of out-of work knife men, Bren and Alain, got hired to guard the door but they ended up coming along to beef out the crew. 

One drunken night, a tired barfly had made up a name for them after being passed around with a bottle. Deke’s Dirties. “Can’t be a gang in Kirkwall without a name. It’sa rule,” she’d slurred before passing out. 

“Told you we’d make a name for ourselves, Micah.”

“Suzie made up that name, if you’re honest, Deke.”

“Honest ain’t my vice, brother.”

They were celebrating half a year in Kirkwall. His boys. He’d just bought them all new leathers. It was a good night.

\---000---

 

Deke saw the elf at the back of the alley. A whore working his trade probably, with those shiny tattoos down his back and that pretty hair. Sounded like he was earning his copper, too, judging from the sounds coming from the woman pinned to the wall. He grinned darkly as he adjusted himself. Since she was willing to pay, she might give up something free to an actual man. “Take a break, knifey. Let’s see what else she’s got in her purse, hmm?”

“Go away.” The elf had a rasping voice, strained and short.

The others had drawn up to Deke’s back, spaced enough to block off the alley from any passing guards. Smirking, Deke answered, “Don’t think so.”

The woman had dropped her leg from the elf’s hip with a sigh, hands working in the dark to adjust their armor. Two wicked grey eyes peeked over the spiked shoulder. “You should listen to him, lad.” All Deke could see was that lush, bruised mouth.

“Shut up, bitch. Hand over…”

Her partner growled and Deke was bewildered to see the tattoos light up as the elf spun towards the crew, a huge greatsword that had been leaning against the wall in his hands. The woman was drawing gleaming daggers from their scabbards with a feral smile that belied the smooth voice and sweet face. “You might want to apologize. Fenris doesn’t care for men who call us names. Nor do I.” Her voice went icy on the last words.

“Maker’s Breath.” Micah was shaking, but he didn’t back away from Deke’s hip.

Deke swallowed but he kept his stance solid. “Don’t know what you are, elf, but that sword looks expensive. Give it over.” He wasn’t bluffing. There were six of them against these two, shouldn’t be a problem.

“Deke...this ain’t…that’s the _Champion_ …” The others were mumbling and shifting.

“You should listen to your friends,” the elf said gravely. 

Deke was sweating now and he could feel his hands shake as he drew his sword. He couldn’t back down. All that had brought this band together had been his guts and his refusal to back down. He’d blow his reputation. The warehouse, his men. He was starting to make himself a real life. He couldn’t lose it all to a stinking elf and a little whore. He firmed up his grip. “This is my part of town. You want to play here, you gotta pay. Get ‘em, Dirties!”

He hadn’t taken a step, only raised his sword, when the woman disappeared. The elf, speaking some sort of foreign tongue brought his sword up and over, slamming Deke across the middle, flinging him across the alley to smash against the filthy stone. The new leathers sliced through like broadcloth, blood and…oh Maker…something slippery, slimy falling against his hands as he scrabbled them against his stomach.

He saw Micah go down, the woman pulling her daggers back as he fell. Corin had dropped his prized bow and fled. Dagen had thrown a flask of acid, but she deflected it into his face and screaming, he didn’t even notice when she cut his throat. Her partner sliced off Bren’s arm, then his head in two swift curves. Alain landed across his legs, eyes glazed. His boys. His crew. Cut down like so much scrap. Six against two. It wasn’t even a fair fight.

He dragged his blurring eyes to the woman. “Eugh. That one was a bleeder.” She didn’t sound winded in the least.

Her lover chuckled. “Come along. Varric will let us clean up before the game.”

She leaned into him. “I don’t really feel like cards, just now. I do recall that there is a perfectly nice wall in my garden, though. Bandit-free and everything.” He growled and drew her into a kiss, surrounded by Deke's friends. His brother. Deke tried to protest their disrespect. 

She heard him. “Hang on, that first one’s still breathing.” Deke saw her kneel down. “It’s a rough life, lad,” she said. Her voice was warm, now, and not unkind. “You should have stayed home, tonight.” She snipped off the little emblem Micah had sewn to the shoulder of the new leathers. He felt a sharp, white pain in his chest as the stiletto slid into his heart. Deke was terribly cold as she stood, taking the warmth with her as she and her lover left the alley behind.

**Author's Note:**

> All those gangs start somewhere. They all end up the same, too.


End file.
